Page 23 of Remade
Quinn and I fired at the same time, and the front tires were no problem. And when the cars skidded along the grass, we managed to get a third tire too.
“Reload,” he said, releasing the mag and attaching a new one in a second. No fucking exaggeration either.
“We have movement,” I declared. Before anyone could emerge from the two sedans, we saw people coming from farther away, presumably the van. “Charlie, previous orders apply. Fire when ready.”
Slater checked in to say they had few signs of life in the bunker, but they were gonna do a sweep when the smoke cleared.
Quinn cursed just as I eased up and sat back on my heels, and I couldn’t fucking believe what I was seeing.
“Perimeter watch, how big is that fucking clown car?” I snapped. I was counting nine targets— “What’s that on their backs? Jesus Christ, are those flamethrowers?” I let out a growl and switched so I could speak to Slater again. “Negative, Delta, we need you sooner. Throw another grenade down there for all I care. Then get up here.”
Over the next few minutes, the world around me ceased to exist. My mind cleared, and all I could do was register what happened and act accordingly. We needed more room to move and therefore split into pairs instead. I didn’t know if the three men with flamethrowers planned to burn evidence or just cause destruction, but they were setting the whole fucking lawn on fire. They made it damn difficult for us to keep track of everybody too, but we were counting at least fourteen men, including the ones from the sedans—wait. Make that thirteen men. Coach got one.
They carried a range of rifles and handguns, and they weren’t afraid to waste rounds by shooting straight up into the air.
“Take ’em out!” Coach roared. He ran off with Max, while I signaled for Finlay and Junior to veer west.
Just when we thought it couldn’t get worse, Hyatt reported heat signatures all over the forest, at least twenty heads, and they were all hurrying toward us.
Did they know about Hyatt? Start a bunch of fires and his equipment would become useless…
Flames climbed higher and higher way back, and I ordered our perimeter watch out of there. We all had the same orders now. Work in pairs, shoot to kill, don’t shoot over the flames. We needed to see our targets so we didn’t mistake a friendly for a foe. But those flames—they were setting fire to the trees. They wouldn’t be that high from just a blazing lawn.
“How long till the fire department gets here?” someone asked over the comms. Sounded like Junior. “Someone in the area’s gonna call 9-1-1.”
“I’ll handle it,” Coach said. “I’ll be back in two. Out.”
I took aim and fired at a guy before he could lift his rifle.
Leighton grabbed my arm and pointed east. “They need backup.”
Fuck.
Coach and Max were surrounded by fire and enemies some fifty yards away, so Leighton and I took off in a sprint.
“Some of these fuckers only brought knives,” Crew chuckled darkly over the comms. “Oh, you’re a coked-up son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
Shots kept cracking through the air, and I gnashed my teeth and told myself I’d just slow us down if I got too worried about Leighton. He was a capable young man. And we didn’t have a fucking choice anymore. No place was safe.
We jumped over a strip of low flames, the smoke way more unpleasant than the fire itself. The fumes were gonna affect us sooner rather than later.
At close range, I pulled out my gun and shot the first guy I saw, and Leighton wasn’t far behind.
“Max!” I snapped.
“It jammed!” he spat back. Short explanation for why he’d thrown his carbine on the ground. And a beat later, he charged at a beefy guy with a combat knife, and I ordered Leighton to assist.
Why wasn’t Coach aiming—oh fuck. He’d been hit in his right shoulder.
Rage tore through me, and I hurried toward him. “Why didn’t you fucking tell us, Coach?”
“I got it—” He rammed into a guy with his shoulder first, grabbed his boot knife, and stabbed the target in the stomach. “Covered,” he panted.
Right then and there, maybe, but three men were coming in fast.
I shot the guy Coach had stabbed, then aimed at?—
“Argh—” Son of a whore! I bent over and clutched my arm as searing pain spread throughout me.Ah, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!Wasn’t the first time I’d been shot—wouldn’t be the last—but I’d never get used to that intense, mind-numbing, overwhelmingly sharp pain that sent ripples of fire from the wound. Fuck fire. It was lava. Lava and a…a…million wasps and fire ants. And jam a rusty nail in there too.
